


The mehan and the thief

by Susamo



Series: The Adventures of the young Gos athor Atlan da Gonozal [6]
Category: Perry Rhodan - Various Authors
Genre: Alternate Reality, Gen, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-14
Updated: 2020-06-14
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:06:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24716527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Susamo/pseuds/Susamo
Summary: Young Atlan da Gonozal has to survive and hide upon Tela-vhelor, a backwater colonial planet. He hopes to find friends at last and a place to work, and one to live. Though that brings problems of its own- the young Gos athor of the Tai Ark'Tussan must learn to deal with society at its lowest, among criminals and gangs, and convincingly play the role of a shader merchant's son named Cunor Lant'cer. Meeting Karena is a true ray of hope for him and might earn him a place with her gang- which offers the hope of some safety for the desperate prince. On the other hand, beautiful Karena is a prostitute, which in Arkonath society is nothing to be ashamed of. But she is also a thief...
Series: The Adventures of the young Gos athor Atlan da Gonozal [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1753825
Comments: 2
Kudos: 1





	The mehan and the thief

**Author's Note:**

> The Safayeh is an androgyne mythical person. At the end of the year, he/ she will dance with masks on his/ her face, and during the dance, the masks will be changed, symbolizing many aspects and sides of life.
> 
> Upon Arkonath measurement of time, see the notes of my previous works. A prago is a day, a tonta is an hour, a minute a khela, and a second a sarton, a moment a mithron. A year is a Tai-Votan, a Votan is a month, a berlon is a week.
> 
> For those who wonder at the young age people in the gangs of Tela-vhelor are having sex at: A Tai-Votan of Arkon comes down to 1,182 human years of Earth. Therefore a person of the age of twelve upon Arkon would be about fourteen years upon Earth, someone aged thirteen would be fifteen and a third of a year, and a boy aged fourteen upon Arkon would be aged sixteen and a half upon Earth. Someone aged fifteen upon Arkon would be nearly eighteen upon Earth.
> 
> In the Middle Ages, a boy of fourteen was considered a man and could be anointed king, as well as marry-or, be held accountable fully for a crime and be sentenced to death- while girls of fifteen were of a marriable age. Generally, if her father wanted to marry her off as soon as possible, a girl could wed as soon as she had her monthly courses started and could bear a child. Often such brides were no older than twelve. Of course, concerning such matters, one always has to have a closer look at the place and time in question, where customs differed. Venice in 1450 isn't Ireland in 830, for example, and the age a human boy or girl came of age or could marry cannot be generalized in history. Yet, one should keep in mind that our standards of 2020 in Europe or the USA where the age to marry or to be allowed to have sex is concerned, cannot be taken for granted or accepted everywhere else upon Earth, even now, and that goes for earlier times upon our own planet as well and more. For example, it is well recorded and documented that boys of the nobility in France, around the time of Louis the thirteenth (the time of the three musketeers), from the age of twelve onward were given a mistress to teach them the arts of the bed and to have sex safely with a clean and experienced woman of the parents' choice. That was seen to be preferable to the boy, or the very young man, taking every unmarried maid of the household who took his fancy to the haystack or to his bed. A mistress so honoured, often a young woman of about twenty, might then bear a bastard to her young master and be moneyed and well supplied for her life after, and be married off later with a good dowry. Customs and the acceptance of society at that time and place differ greatly to what is considered proper and allowed by law nowadays!
> 
> Moreover, the Arkonides regard sexuality as a natural part of life and nothing to be ashamed of. Men and women are considered to be of equal value though differing in their strengths and qualities. With the means a highly technologically advanced civilization like theirs has to hand, they have a choice whether children are conceived during sex or not. In their culture, what matters is a natural balance and harmony between the two partners, love and life and fertility, especially now during the time of the Great Terrible War against the Maahks where the blood toll the Empire pays is enormously high, and so many more people die than can be born.
> 
> A pakka-tho literally is a "man at someone's side", a protector, bodyguard, or helper, especially in a shady or criminal context.  
> A sahyas payneen da Asa' nan sahín is a Gift of Fate, literally a "help offered".
> 
> To cry a brekkar in the duct means to rat on somebody. Literally a brekkar is a kind of vermin very much like to a rat, but much harder to catch and kill. They are infamous for infesting the ducts of stations or less well-kept ships.
> 
> A kath is a sword. The Sword Itself, the Sword Flung Out, is the Sword of Fate thrown by Asahina, the Goddess of Fate, to fly on through space turning hilt over the tip, cutting out the path of a person's life. That Sword has two sides to it, life and death, light and dark, war and peace, truth and illusion. The sides oppose each other and still are part of one thing. The Edge in between joins the two opposing sides and turns two into three, and three into one, the Sword Itself. People often see only one side of the sword, but Love walks both worlds, both sides of the sword, and can see both sides and unite them. Someone "walking the Edge" goes through a hard and harsh experience but might come out of it with a wider horizon and experience having made him not only knowledgable but wise.
> 
> A Yoner madrul, in short, a Yon, is a physician. Literally it means a man who slices open a person's stomach. The word is very old.
> 
> A Luykan pack is comparable to a wolf pack- a very nasty one.
> 
> Zhak'shon means Dark Star, literally. Meant is a Black Hole, and the expression can be compared to "shit" or "merde".

The mehan’ and the thief

With full conscious ceremony, Atlan undressed, putting away the layers that covered him in his mind also, putting away piece by piece what made him the Crystal Prince-ceremony, birth, the knowledge of being watched and conducting himself in public, the behaviour of an Eldrith noble, his family and its noble name. Though that would do only for a time; now and then he would have to consciously return to the state of mind the Crystal Prince had, to avoid real mental conflict. In truth, safely hidden behind his mask of a mehandor shader brat, he had to be all he was and ever had been and known, and attend to the duties he had to the Tai Ark Tussan, his office and his duties to the Tai Moas his uncle, which were that he had to escape this trap and get home as swiftly as possible and bring with him as much data as was possible upon these rebels and murderers. 

He stepped into the shower, thinking of himself, and how he felt, how he had felt desperation and fear and helplessness. The water, gloriously hot and giving a very cleansing feeling with the shower pad-a sonic scrubber with perfume added, as he would not have had it any better shipboard-he let wash away all these feelings, making him clean and fresh and free of all such emotions which belonged to another life, to another personality. Here and now, downworld, this shower was a luxury he had not had shipboard at home where water was scarce and could not be squandered for simple cleaning one’s body.

Consciously and with full concentration he worked himself up into seeing this room and its facilities with the eyes of a mehandor youth, who in fact was almost fourteen or even fourteen passed, compared to standard count. Standing tall he scrubbed his hair and then, ceremoniously, began to braid it at the back; that braid was short for now, but it was there and gave him the pride in his ship and his merchanter clan that he needed to face this world. Even if he was the only one left of Lirela, she and the Family still were there in his mind and heart and had to be upheld and kept alive by him. Kel, his elder brother, would have had to do that before him, but Kel was dead-

Pain and sorrow swept like a wave through the boy’s heart. What had happened upon the TONDON could not be put away or hidden, he saw that too clearly. It had to be transformed instead. So the Lirela must have been boarded by enemies of his father Aloroy, and he must have seen his mother and his brother die before he had been able to give the murderers the slip and run away. They had gassed him, but he had known the ship too well and had been able to reach the hangar in time, had gotten into an ejection pod unnoticed and had drifted away safely before the Lirela had been blown up-

Yes, this version fit. It encompassed both sides of his personality-the one that had become true now, the mehandor youth, and the hidden one, that Eldrith boy from another, strange life, a life that had been familiar once upon a time, but no longer was.  
With all his will Atlan concentrated upon this new truth he wanted to be real now for Cunor. The wild pain and sorrow that filled his heart for Lesanna, his mother, was all true and genuine, and so was the pain and loss he felt for Kel, his elder brother, over whose bleeding corpse he had fallen when he had escaped the murderers first.  
An abyss of emptiness, filled only with pain and horror, suddenly was gaping just at his feet, an abyss threatening to draw him in like the abyss of Mhorymer. For Cunor that awareness of acute and absolute loss, of having lost everything he had held dear and had known, was even more piercing than it was for the Crystal prince, who at least had a family to return to, a family who loved him. But the loss of their entire world, their loved ones, their home and safety, both of them had in common.

Atlan-Cunor-took a deep breath and forced those threatening emotions into the imagined crystals which protected his heart and his belly, and concentrated upon showering and cleaning himself from all these feelings and from memories and thoughts which belonged to another person, first with teeth clenched, and then relaxing beneath the wonderfully hot shower of pure clean water. He was Cunor Lant’cer, son of Aloroy of the Lirela, and the acute pain of having lost his family was his, of his ship, or everything that he had called home and had loved.  
That task to carry on the Family and keep it and its songs alive had fallen to him now, and so had revenge. 

He took out the small piece of cloth he carried with him and simply held it for a time, envisioning life shipboard with Lesanna his mother and Kel his elder brother, laughing with him, teaching him how to fight in the ship’s gym, showing him how to work with comp and positronic. Aloroy his father was a somewhat more distant figure-tall upon the bridge, imposing, obeyed immediately, a true patriarch of his kind.

A soft sob escaped his throat. Yes, his feelings were all true-all too true. The other personality of his felt full of pain and loss too-of the people close to him who had been killed, and of the family he had which was far away now, too far to reach and call. The scion of the Gonozal family had no less adherence to it and his duties to his blood and heritage than the merchanter brat had to a his-another thing they had in common, and which they shared, and which would lay doubly upon the shoulders of his alter ego.  
But Cunor was strong, and could be a hard-nosed bastard, and was perfectly capable of keeping this other part of himself safe, the young prince who had lost everything, loved ones he had had to watch killed and the family and home he was sundered from. But the prince was not helpless and alone. He had him, the experienced mehandor youth, who would hide him and get him through everything safely.

Atlan tec’ Gonozal, the Gos athor da Arkon, could watch in safety, watch their backs and warn against any danger in time. They were a good team full of potential- the prince and the mehan brat.

Atlan smiled grimly. Two sides to the Sword flung out, truth and illusion, light and dark. Those sides were kept apart forever, opposing each other, yet were two sides of one thing, the sword, and so were kept together as strongly and inextricably, kept apart and joined by the Edge of the Sword at the same time, turning two to three and into One, joining them in unity in the Hand of Fate.

Truth and Illusion, Merhas and Stellyrhas, looked to be solid and fixed. Yet Truth could be an illusion and seeming Illusion could turn out to be the truth, a principle of Dagor he had been taught with the Shifting of Positions -and so they were interchangeable, as were the positions and the personalities of himself too, of the prince and the mehan’brat, of Atlan tec’ Gonozal and Cunor Lant’cer. Their emotions and experiences and obligations were the same in surprisingly many points, which then made up the Edge that joined them and made them two sides of the same Sword, fighting side by side and in unison.

Dressing carefully he put on the clothes of Cunor Lant’cer and knew himself to be that youth, and knelt down upon the floor, sitting back upon his heels, and started the deep breathing of Dagor meditation.  
He truly had to make the two into one, and let himself be Cunor first-Cunor to be the mask to hide and protect the Crystal Prince, and let him feel comfortable and familiar in this world he was in, in this dark reality of blood and death.  
Envisioning the Crystal he found his center and felt serene once again. Breathing deeply, eyes closed, his hands cupped in the gesture of concentrated meditation, he went deeper still, the third level, the fourth-the outside world had gone away, only the inner world existed anymore, the Serenity of the Crystal, where he was himself, one-this was where he could find rest from everything.

Here he was himself. Feeling and enjoying that serenity and oneness he felt happy and calm once more, and at peace with himself. But he had to don a mask, be someone else in the outer world; though not someone strange, but a part of himself and his own true personality made into a separate person, Cunor Lant’cer.

The master of all masks was the Safayeh. 

The young prince let him/her appear before his eyes, gracefully dancing nearer, changing faces as she/he changed masks, smiling ones, fearful ones, angry ones. Upon his wordless request, she/he handed him a special mask, his own face which changed as he held it in his hand, looking at it, contemplating it. He was facing Cunor, the mehandor boy, who had a quick frown as well as an easy and sharp laugh, his eyes glittering. Cunor was fierce, was like the Sword.

He put on that mask, letting it melt onto his own face which changed with it, changing him into Cunor for good, hiding the Crystal Prince. When he felt comfortable with that changed face, with Cunor’s personality and feelings, consciously going through them, he turned outward, towards Cunor’s world, the darker reality of the here and now.

Atlan envisioned the Sword and its two sides, taking it into his hand, feeling and seeing his life as it had been, a life that was lost forever because he was not the boy he had been, not anymore. This was the truth he had had; the other side of the sword held illusion, held the mask of Cunor and the world he had to learn to accept and be familiar with, the new and dark reality he had to become comfortable with. This was the truth now and had itself proven to be true, mercilessly real. The safety and careless joy of childhood had itself revealed to be an illusion, though it had been real to him once-but it never would be so again, and he knew it. Even when he returned and lived like he had lived before-with changes, since then he would likely be twelve-he would know that safety and careless joy to be illusion while the war raged on and soldiers died, and worlds burned. Now he knew what the mekhans-and mekhons-wearing the blood-red of death with a black lining at Court in mourning did feel in their hearts. Now he knew…

Truth, and Illusion. He weighed the Sword in his hand, seeing both worlds, both realities, feeling them, knowing them, the one the familiar and joyful one, the other the dark one that still frightened him, which held the most terrible experiences of his-new-life. Truth and illusion were interchangeable, could be turned upside down as his reality had been turned upside down-Now.

With a strong and swift movement, he turned the blade of the sword around in his mind, the light side becoming dark, the dark one beginning to glow. His feelings and emotions went with that move, the world changing abruptly, everything going upside down and righting itself again. There. Everything had changed into its opposite, but as it was now it was right-absolutely right.

Atlan breathed deeply and slowly, let his feelings come to rest, embracing the new-found peace and surety of himself, of Cunor Lant’cer. Here he was at home, in this darker reality. Within him he felt the Crystal Prince’s presence, kneeling and resting serenely, within the Crystal he locked within his heart, safe and secure and hidden. 

He himself was not like a crystal-his personality was more like the sword, fierce and sharp and without compromises, having two sides but an edge in between that made them of one piece, out-balanced. He was like the Sword Flung Out, unstoppable, powerful, fierce, flying down its path turning tip over hilt, and strong and as deadly if someone stood in his way.

Slowly coming up to an awareness of his surroundings, his breathing becoming swifter and less deep, Atlan felt somewhat dizzy and a bit out of balance. The Crystal had not been the ideal symbol to choose for this meditation, it seemed; Cunor Lant’cer did not feel perfectly comfortable with it.  
Or, perhaps, it was the perfect symbol for the Crystal Prince, but not for Cunor-he needed another symbol for the mehandor youth, a second symbol. Why not take a Sword into his hand to symbolize him? Cunor’s personality was like that anyway! Next time, he would use both symbols and find the balance between these two, he decided, getting up and slowly finding balance again within himself. He was Cunor Lant’cer, son of Aloroy of the Lirela, and had an appointment this evening-and before that, he wanted to go through his items and have a bite or two. There was still time for that.

Whistling a tune under his breath Atlan went to put everything upon the bed methodically and pack it away again in order, ready to leave in an emergency. He had to be ready at any moment to get out, like at fire drills and decomp drills shipboard. His most precious belongings he put away in his shirt’s inner pocket-the bloodied piece of cloth and the data crystals that might perhaps yield a cache of information, now that he had the pad and the means to extract it from the crystals.

Reddi-meal! had to suffice this evening. He had no time left to eat out at the restaurant, and neither was he interested in facing a crowd right now. He had to concentrate upon the shopkeeper tonight, and the place he would be brought to.

The boss of the repair workshop was a woman of middle age named Krenna, a person with a hard face and a sharp and piercing look. But she was kind enough to a newly orphaned youth, offering him a trial time of a berlon to see whether he had any skills to offer she might make use of and need.

“I can offer you work for six pragos a berlon, no more, but that might just be fine for a sprig like you. With an Arkonath I’d count you no more than thirteen, Cunor; as a mehandor, you still have to grow at fourteen. Well, we can call you thirteen as your card says, no problem there, I have to watch about heavy work either way. Planetary law is strict about employing youngsters. But if you are specializing in programming and positronics, as Tikar here says you do, then we will not get into conflict with any rule on that side.”

“Te, meh-I mean, yes, sera”, Atlan said, trying to give a good impression. The gaze of the woman was doubtful; he looked his actually twelve years too much, apparently, or did barely qualify for the perhaps physically challenging work at this workshop.

She flicked her wrist shortly and handed him a cleaner set of the more primitive kind.

“We close in a tonta. In that time you can sweep the storage room.” She pointed to a door in the background which stood slightly ajar. Atlan went without another word, having given a small bow of acknowledgment. Sera Krenna looked after him with a thoughtful frown.

Storage was quite a mess. The room was covered with shelves on three sides with the door in between, and with large compartments at the fourth, which contained the heavier kind of material and several machines, out of order or in the process of being repaired, one could not say. The floor was dusty and covered with a number of oily stains, and had a lot of metallic micro dust sticking to the oil, which did not make the matter any better. Several small parts lay beneath the shelves, a screw, a piece of wire there, a deranged contact here, an automatic screwdriver, and a cutter over there. Gods.

With a will, the young Arkonide set the cleaner to work, which was only halfway automatic and needed his hand to guide it. At least he did not have to scrub and rub with muscle power. The cleaner powder he had to put in halfway through the floor’s cleaning went in only slowly, the reason for was seen swiftly: something stuck in there in the cleaner’s powder box.  
With a frown, the boy looked around, found a discarded set of gloves and slipped it on, and set to getting the obstacle out, which proved to be a couple of small bolts. How had they ever gotten in there? Someone had been very sloppy with putting in the powder-and had not cared about the matter after. The bolts had been in here some time, as one saw, they being so shiny and even glittery.

Cleaning went swifter now, and the machine had a different hum to its working and worked better. Good-but it let the young prince’s look drift aside towards the shelves and let him see how the one or the other board sagged, bulging under the weight of the items stacked. The material of those boards definitely wasn’t Arkonath steel, which logically it couldn’t be, that being the stuff starships were made of. But it must be something very much inferior and cheap.

So Atlan cleaned the floor and, seeing he wasn’t called yet, set to amending the impending catastrophe of boards giving and material for repairs spilling. A thomkay pratholtor, an antigrav supporter, he would need too to hold up the shelves while he worked, he thought-at home he had his hoverboard, following him around and getting waved to wherever the young prince wanted it and the items it carried. 

All he could see was a mechanical brace, screwed to a board it definitely didn’t hold in that position, perhaps it was just there as a reminder of sorts. But that could be amended.  
Hover cells the boy had seen upon a board two shelves down. It was the work of a khela to grab for one, pick up the automatic screwdriver he had rescued from under a shelf, get off the brace and screw on the cell. The brace wasn’t designed to be connected to a hover cell, so the young prince put the parts together with the wire he had found-inelegantly mechanical, and not by zhey contact, an energy contact, but working. Fortunately, the cutter he had picked up was a more general tool and could be used for welding as well.

That hover brace did its work now as it should and pushed up the sagging board, getting the considerable weight pressing down upon it off and letting him work with the screwdriver, affixing one of the small bars he had found the other side of the storage room to support the board somewhat better than the single curving screw had done it, and getting three new screws in for good measure. One of the things he had always liked to do and had excelled in class with had been mechanics and technical instruction. He harboured the dream of going into engineering someday since the scions of Eldrith families had to have at least two areas of expertise when graduating from the academy. Psychology was a given with him, he knew, and strategy was a simple requirement for a Crystal Prince. But a third subject, just for his personal joy and according to his interest, was in order too and would be supported by his instructors, and that, he had thought, could well be a kind of engineering. He was better at handicrafts than he had let on and was tinkering along quite happily in his free time at home, putting together some devices he definitely shouldn’t have known of or used, like that skorge’ projector. That expertise and skill he could use well now, he realized, and it was another given, this time with Cunor Lant’cer, that he knew what to put together and how also mechanically and was good and precise at it. He had to apply himself and do his best, here at this service shop!

The board’s new support looked good and did its work, holding up the shelf properly, which was no longer sagging. Its neighbour had the same problem but it didn’t sag as much as it was about to tilt, the weight of the goods it held distributed terribly unevenly.

Having a closer look Atlan saw why very swiftly. Under a heap of small parts-a mix of energy cells of different kinds, the sockets and clamps necessary for them, and the contacts conducting the energy on to the device they would be put into-something bigger lurked, five containers of liquid oxygen set there without any order.

The boy heaved them down with pure strength of muscle and carried them over to the compartment where other containers of the kind were stacked up neatly, and put them where they logically belonged, realizing that, if he was to work here six pragos a berlon in truth, he would need quite a lot of muscle power.  
The reason why the owner of the shop, sera Krenna, had looked upon him with doubt and a frown and had called him a “sprig” was becoming clear also. That was not only owned to the doubt she had of his abilities and knowledge, but also to the missing physical strength she saw, and which was not so wrong an assessment, one saw it here.

The young prince compressed his lips. That would not do. He needed this job and the cover, the security and normalcy it provided, even more than he needed the money itself. So he had to make up for his missing physical strength. To put together a few thomkay gadgets should not be too hard with the parts he saw here in storage; he had money enough left to pay for them and would not steal from sera Krenna if he made use of them.  
First, though, he had to repair the tilting board.

Making use of the hover brace he had put together before he righted the board and welded a small bar to its other side to balance it out roughly and let it set in its proper place again, which needed some patience and a bit of muscle power once more. Then he screwed in the holders and threw the items on that board into a few empty boxes stacked up upon another shelf, properly sorting them and putting the parts together which belonged together, and set the boxes up upon the righted board.

With contentment, he viewed his work. As yet no-one was looking in or calling, though the tonta named before must be up-but no matter. The shop-keeper and the owner of this service center had seemed to be old friends and were perhaps happily chatting away. He could use the time to get a few gadgets together he had in mind, which would help him do his work at this place.

Krenna had talked a lot with Tikar in truth. She had become interested in this merchanter boy who had such a perfect and self-assured posture and such diligent manners, giving bows and saying “Yes, sera!” with a real snap in his voice, though he had thoughtlessly used the mehandor phrase before, saying “Te, meh”, instead. That boy had himself in hand-he had corrected himself and had not used the phrase again. His recent enormous loss he had left unmentioned, he only had answered Tikar when he had asked. But one saw it. The boy had come well-scrubbed and dressed properly, though in spacer garb, and had plaited his hair at the back of his head, wearing that emblem of mehandor culture, the braid. Yet that hair had apparently been cut recently, and the braid, which should have fallen down the boy’s back, was short, only of about a handspan. So he had had to disguise himself on his way here, acting as if he wasn’t mehandor, or he had cut off the braid to burn it as an offering for his dead-his whole family was gone, he had said to Tikar. She would talk to the boy, she had decided, gently and cautiously, and would see whether she could help in any way. 

That Cunor was diligent and hard-working she already knew. The cleaner had hummed away and had changed its tone-he must have done something to it, and though the time was up and the cleaning obviously was done he was not emerging and announcing his work to be over, but he was tinkering along assiduously, a screwer humming and a welder hissing occasionally. 

Krenna knew that storage wasn’t in order perfectly. But neither she nor her three mechanics, employees of several years standing with her, had found time recently to do much about clearing that room. Cunor, the spacer boy, seemed to have an eye for work waiting, though. He might become an asset to her workshop, she hoped.  
Jheley and Sukkar already had left, while Arim still was putting that drive of the heavy glider together, working overtime. It was time to see what the young mehan’ was doing.

Softly walking up to storage with Tikar, who was as curious as was she, Krenna looked through the half-open door and saw the boy sitting cross-legged upon the floor, screwing and welding pieces together with zeal, fully concentrated upon his work, while two already finished gadgets hovered behind him and moved to his gesture, one a tinkered-together hoverboard carrying several items, the other something that looked like an improvised hover brace. 

Hearing them the young mehandor looked up and rose, turning, and gave another little bow that so spoke of excellent manners and a somewhat different culture, and said:” Sera Krenna, I have taken the liberty of constructing a few gadgets for me to use in my work here. Heaving those containers of liquid oxygen over to that other board-“  
he gave a tiny gesture of his fingers, “I realized that I might need more muscle power, working here, than I can put to task right now. So I put together a few items that might aid me. The parts I shall pay for immediately if you please.”

He stood-at parade rest, one could not define that posture otherwise-and waited calmly for her verdict, Krenna realized. She saw what he had meant, and saw further what the busy mehandor boy had done else but cleaning, that time he had been left in here on his own. Two shelves were repaired and put in order, and he apparently had found the five oxygen tanks they had been looking for in vain, three pragos gone.

With eyebrows raised the shop boss looked the boy over. He had put the tools he had used neatly in a row-tools he must have found in here, lying here and there-and clearly had some talent for improvising and putting things together, abilities she could use well with an employee working at this shop. This boy looked to be a real asset for the team if he held to these promises.

“If you leave them here and use them only for the work I give you you need not pay for them”, she said. “We can use them all of us. Well done, Cunor-I notice that you have eyes to see where work is to be done. Come back tomorrow at pragolar, at midday, and I’ll hand you some work on simple positronics. Arim here-“ she gestured at the lanky young man who had appeared behind her, eyeing the newcomer with interest-“will help you with calibrating the things and show you the basics at this workshop. Welcome in, Cunor. We shall see further after your trial time.”  
But the warm smile sera Krenna gave him told the young Crystal Prince that she was expecting to keep him on, at least if he did as well as he had done now, thank the Gods. That he was to work only half-time, according to his youth, was a good thing too-so he would have the time he needed to go after his other goals.

With a bow and a smile, he thanked her and followed them when they all left. Arim stayed behind and stopped at the door, holding out his hand.

“Hey Cunor, welcome from me too. You’ll have to clean up after me often enough-so I’m glad to see you’re working diligently. I’ll teach you in between too. My specialty is drives and vehicles.”

With a smile, Atlan took the hand and squeezed it. “Thank you, Arim. I’m looking forward to learning more, always.”

The little bow he gave after made the young man laugh, who gave the boy a pat on the back.

“Cunor, you need not be so formal with us. Spacer manners are fine, but with us, a nod or a pat is more common.”

The mehan youth grinned. “Te, to”, he said and translated himself immediately after, acting overly serious all of a sudden. “Yes, ser.”

“Gods.”Arim looked skyward. “Don’t do this with Sukkar. He might take you seriously and expect us to call him “ser” ever after.”

“In that case, I won’t.” The grin was back on that youth’s face, and Arim gave him a friendly nod.“Well then, till the morrow. Prepare for dirt and dust.”

Very well content with himself Atlan walked back to the dingy hotel and was looking forward to having a deep and good sleep. He had done well today, he knew it, and had gone far for just one day upon this world of the oily season. His father would have been very proud of him-

Gods, father, meth, you are too far away for me to call you, you don’t know where I am, you most likely only know that I have survived, Oh Gods, father-

For a moment the emotions he felt almost overwhelmed the young Crystal Prince. Anguish, yearning, fear-but he kept command of himself, suppressed them again and locked those feelings into the Crystal within his heart. No time for this now, and then-the father he should mourn for was Aloroy, Aloroy Lant’cer.

A proud and devious merchanter, Aloroy had been, a true shader, a mehan’zarak. He had known Ehrett Jammun, the head of the Public Welfare Service of Lepso, personally, and had spent time in private conversations with that so powerful and dangerous man at Orbana, Lepso’s capital. “All routes meet Lepso”, as the saying went among spacers, a saying even Cunor knew. His father had proven that right-and on her route out of Firing system, out of Lepso, Lirela had been blown up. The murderer of his family sat upon Lepso, most likely.  
Involuntarily Atlan’s hand went to his jacket, where beneath the shirt, in the inner pocket, a scrap of stained red cloth lay. I have not forgotten you, he thought at his dead ones.  
I hold you nearest to my heart, mother Lesanna, little Getray, Kel my brother, Alos my friend and protector, and Denios my teacher. You have not bled upon my sleeve, as you were strangled, Deni Lakthro, but I know and think of you, my uncle, and my teacher.

They were with him all his pragos, all his tontas, and sartons, and now would never leave him again as he thought of them. Four pragos ago, on the fifth of the Tarman, the TONDON had been assaulted, and they had died. The next prago he had escaped the ship of the murderers who had abducted him, and had run and arrived here-and it was the second full prago now that he had spent upon Tela-vhelor. He had gotten far these two pragos, had gotten money and an ID, a job and knew about life here, and knew the way he must go, escaping his enemies permanently, who searched for him with all their might and that of the government of this world. It was the eighth of the Tarman now, and he knew that he could not stay for long here in that hotel-he would have to find a different lair to hide out in. Perhaps sera Krenna could help him, or he’d find something else on his own tomorrow. For today he was too tired and had no idea yet how and where to find something. The problem, of course, was that such a hide-out should bring him into contact with the enemies of his enemies, the only allies he could hope for here-and that meant criminals, people who stood outside the law, like this Cormon Thol and the men and women of his Corgon. But how could he get into contact with such people? He would have to think a lot about this, but he wasn’t helpless. He had read reports enough of Golamo agents and would find a way to go and deal with this problem. Opportunities would arise, as his teacher always was wont to say. And Cunor-Cunor was devious enough, wasn’t he?

With head held high, he walked into the hotel not looking left or right and went up to his room. A shower, and sleep, nothing else he wanted any more now. Upon the Lirela third watch, the first one of alterday would have begun three tontas ago, and he would have been at rest in his cabin now.

Atlan was tired enough and ready to go to bed and even contemplated foregoing the shower when urgent and incessant knocking at the door drew his attention.

For a moment the young prince stood frozen. But it could not be minions of government and the murderers who had found him-those would have used their authority and gotten the master key from the hotel director or would have opened the door with a general flasher, overriding any low-key encryption the cheap electronic locks in this run-down hotel had to offer. Anyone knocking was more helpless than was he, and-who could know of him and want him, who did not have the desk downstairs call him first?

If he didn’t open he wouldn’t learn and wonder forever, he thought, irritated, and went to open, his needler ready but concealed in his hand. Whoever was out there, he was in a better position and knew how to fight.

The beautiful girl standing in front of the door, slipping into the room the moment he had opened the door wide enough without any invitation was a total surprise. Atlan stared at her, and only at her urgent gesture closed the door again.

He had seen her before, he suddenly realized. She was the young woman he had thought to be a courtesan when he had seen her walk off at the restaurant. Neither was her profession more doubtful now that he saw her close up, her blouse halfway transparent at interesting and strategic spots, her knee-long pants skin-tight and showing more than they concealed, her sandals high-heeled and showing off the relatively long legs and painted ankles, her perfume one of the heady and full-bodied kinds.

“I’m Karena, and I need your help, merchanter chap, and I need it now”, she said hastily, but with a winning smile. “They’re after me, and I need a spot to hide.”

Atlan stepped back to let her come in farther and saw her sweep the whole room with a long glance. This girl was no fool and knew more than her obvious trade.

“How do you know that I will help you-the lure of your looks aside?” he asked, irony creeping into his voice involuntarily. This girl was surprisingly sure of his goodwill, though she had but glimpsed him once. That he was in no danger from her he knew. The way they stood he could take her out with a single Dagor movement; he wouldn’t even need his gun to threaten her.

“Two reasons”, she answered, her smile truly enticing. “Do you want to know them, merchanter chap?”

Atlan could not do anything else but smile back, though he did not give up his cautious posture.

“Do tell me, Karena”, he replied.

“First, you aren’t that law-abiding or meek yourself”, she said. “Anyone carries a gun or opens his door with it at the ready expects trouble of the harder kind and is ready to give it himself, and isn’t a person who cares too much for the law or loves the burning light of day, but prefers the shade.”

Bang. Here he had it again, being taken for a zarak-tho, and actually quite justly and by logic. Oww. And that girl had eyes to see more than he had thought and would have put past her, apart from the fact that she must have followed him to know where he had taken a room. 

“Accepted”, he said dryly. “And the second reason?”

She smiled and cocked her head, that smile becoming warmer and more personal.

“I saw you pay a meal for Imekkhy, for free and just because you saw she was hungry. Not many strangers are that compassionate and generous-or would look at her at all and notice. So I had hopes that you would have the heart to help me too-and perhaps I could offer you a service as well?”

She smiled even more enticingly, rolling her hips a little. Her eyes glowed a wonderful golden-red and seemed to throw sparks.

Atlan grinned widely. “Thank you, sera, but that’s not the kind of help I need right now. Though-I do need help, of another kind. But of that, we can talk later.”

He gave the girl a sharp look, no longer concealing the needler gun which he stuck into his waistband at his back.

“I’m willing to help if this matter doesn’t cross certain limits with me. Who is after you, beautiful Karena, and why? And trust me that I can read it from your body language if you are lying.”

She pouted a little and tossed back her shiny white hair so that it flew around her face in a most alluring way.

Atlan stood firm and frowned at her, his fists akimbo. “Give, Karena, if you want my help. I can throw you out of my room within the khela.”

She lifted her brows at that in evident mockery and doubt, cocking her head, but then her shoulders sank a little and her hands opened at her sides.

“Filched data someone asked me for, and promised to pay well for”, she answered, her voice becoming quite level and business-like. “And since that someone is the person who protects me and the gang I’m living with, his request wasn’t one I could easily spurn.”

The youth raised his own brows, a wild stab of interest and hope going through him. This girl was living with a gang, and apart from being a courtesan-or rather, concerning rank, a sex-worker-she also was a thief. Here he had his connections to the Ran’zarak, the World of Shadow, the criminal underworld, a gang of street kids, seemingly, as so many existed upon the more primitive and less developed colonial worlds. So many like gangs and organizations of the kind had formed now in these terrible times of war, with children becoming orphans and people falling into poverty, some planetary governments no longer able or having sufficient means to properly care for their populations-apart from corruption and teeming self-interest of some nefarious officials.

That this wenadoran, this gang, had a protector, was also a good thing. Obviously that man was an adult and a crook himself, who logically must have close ties to a greater zarak’wenadoran and could become the ally the young Crystal prince-or rather, Cunor Lant’cer-needed. This girl Karena, and her need for help, was a gift of the gods, of Zhymelesa whom he had asked to light his way and show it to him. 

“I see”, he said, as calmly and business-like as she had spoken, and stepped back, his hands opening to her invitingly. “Let me welcome you then, beautiful Karena, in my humble abode.”

Her shoulders sagged in relief as she smiled again, walking forward a few steps. Turning to her host she asked with a warm and not at all coy smile:” And what is your name, generous mehandor?”

Atlan gave her a grand bow and grinned. “Cunor Lant’cer, at your service, beautiful Karena.” He raised his brows. “I thought you knew already, as you must have followed me from-where and when, exactly?”

She grinned too and sat on the bed, relaxing visibly. “I didn’t, actually-but when I was down in the hall and could not leave, seeing the pakka-thoi of the man I had been after lurking there, I saw you come in, nose in the air, not looking left and right and I thought, this was a gift of the gods and a Sahyas Payneen of the Asa’nan sahin, a gift of Fate.”

“Fate’s Gift, I am to you?” The young prince smiled and gave another bow she replied to with a grand one of hers, though she kept sitting.

“Sounds nice. And for how long shall I be gifted myself with your presence?”

She flicked her wrists in uncertainty. “I know I touched off something when I opened the bag”, she answered. “But the alarm was silent and gave me time enough to grab for the crystal and run. So I don’t know how close they are upon my heels. A tonta, perhaps, or two.”

Atlan frowned. “I hope you have worn gloves!” he said sharply. “Or any denial of yours, if anyone comes in and queries, will be in vain with fingerprints left!”

She smiled back as sharply, cocking her head. “Of course I have worn gloves” she replied, “and have thrown them into the waste disintegrator bin. They’re ionic dust by now.”

At that, the boy inclined his head, pacified, and grinned when she added:” You’re no amateur in such matters either, it seems, Cunor Lant’cer, and show nicely little outrage at my deed itself. I like such an attitude-you’d fit in perfectly with my gang-mates. Where are you from, and what’s your ship?”

“Out of Firing system, and the name of my family’s ship is Lirela, the Songbird”, he answered with another small bow. Then his face suddenly grew expressionless. “Was”, he corrected himself.

“Was?”

“Lirela is as much ionic dust as are your gloves, now”, he retorted, looking away. “As is all my family. I am the only one left alive and am trying to reach a station of the mehandor kind-but for that I will have to stay and work here till I can afford a passage off-world again. The captain of the ship I traveled with threw me out at this port here, since the money I had left wouldn’t have sufficed to pay for the duration and distance of his upcoming run.”

“Oh.” Her face looked stricken. “Was it an accident, or-?”

But before Atlan could decide what to tell her and could answer, heavy footsteps sounded outside in the corridor, and of several boot-clad feet.

Karena raised her head abruptly and sprang up. “Dammit, they’ve called for security!” she said in an urgent whisper. “They’ll be in shortly, they’ve got override!”

Swiftly the young prince looked around the room to find a way out for his new acquaintance. Perhaps by the window, and with the aid of his hover-carrier-?

But the girl had a better idea. With flying fingers she began to undress, her sandals going off and then her blouse, revealing a very sexy breast cloth which modeled her enticing bosom from sweet curves to pointed nipples.

Atlan looked away with an effort, catching himself at staring. But Karena did not seem to be indignant, on the contrary. She smiled sweetly and pulled off her trousers, which exposed most exciting pants and a bottom which was no longer covered at all.

At the alluring roll of her hips, the boy caught on. He gave back her mischievous grin and got out of his boots in a hurry, halfway opening his shirt and rumpling it, pulling it out of his trousers, and tousled his hair some more. They had to give the impression that Karena had been with him for some time, and that there was a reason why she was here that explained itself.

Jumping into bed from both sides they burrowed in, their bodies very little covered by the almost-discarded cover and grabbed for each other in a close hug. Karena added a touch of the realistic when she swiftly let her hand move down and opened the fly of Atlan’s trousers while she kissed him deeply.  
That very moment the door opened with a hiss and a whoosh, forced by the general override of the flasher the hotel security guard held.  
In unison the boy and the girl shot up in surprise and sat there, eyes wide and still in their close hug.

No less wide the eyes of the security men were who viewed the scene, but the four men, two of security and two in civilian garb, swiftly began to grin, while the fifth one, apparently the captain of security and a man in his middle years, frowned and halfway appreciatively and halfway accusingly said to the reddening youth:” You are quite young for that kind of thing, young ser!”

Despite the fact that of course the situation was one quite different in truth from the one they ostentatiously displayed, Atlan felt terribly embarrassed and knew to his chagrin that he was reddening further to the obvious amusement of the security men. But the one who laughs won’t attack that easily, and, well-their theatre performance was apparently getting the effect it should.

Karena, not at all embarrassed but playing her role to the utmost, showed off her sexy underwear and flawless young body with a lazy roll in the sheet and in the young prince’s arms and smiled sweetly at the men who were beginning to send looks of a different kind at her.

Atlan swallowed and forced himself to meet the eye of the security captain, and held his head up high, his back straight.

“Young or no, ser, one gets what one pays for, and for that tonta of joy I have laid down my chronners. So if you please would leave again-this tonta’s mine. The young sera will surely give you her number to call and tell you her prices when she later comes down.”

Two of the men began to laugh outright at the fledgling thrai showing its claws, while the security captain contemptuously pursed his lips and retorted: ”You should watch where you spend your money, spacer boy. Calling a sex girl to the hotel instead of visiting her at her place costs more, and the services you get surely aren’t any different. Watch whether she won’t leave with your chip in her pocket when you are fast asleep.”

With that, the men turned and left, not without having thrown long looks around the sparsely furnished room for good measure. But the hotel room could not provide any hiding-place, that much was obvious.

The door closed and locked again, and for another moment the two youngsters sat motionless, still staring at the door, till they relaxed with long sighs.

“Taddo was right-he always said that the best hiding place was the one in plain sight!” Atlan murmured, gently extricating himself from Karen’s arms and sitting stiffly at the edge of the bed, beginning to put himself to rights again. He sent the girl an apologetic look and gave a little bow.

“I am sorry for that lout’s words and surmises, sera Karena”, he said in an almost formal tone. “You perhaps are no courtesan of high rank, but as the famkhartona, the sex-worker that you are, you are still an artist of joy or at least an artisan, and should be respected for the services you render. I am sure that anyone who pays you for them will get his proper fill and even beyond that, and I am absolutely sure that you never would steal-at least from me.”

At that, they smiled at each other, impishly and very glad that they had made it and escaped the danger they had faced together, and Karena obviously was very moved at that chivalrous defense of herself and her profession. Apparently she wasn’t used to being addressed as an artist of joy rather than a depreciative “sex girl”.  
She opened her arms to the merchanter youth and smiled very warmly.

“In my eyes, the service you have rendered me, Cunor, is payment enough for whatever you would like to do together with me. I offer you my services with all my heart and all the skill I have as an artist of joy.”

Atlan threw his head back in denial but disarmed his refusal with a warm smile.

“I’m sorry, Karena, but I think that I truly am a bit too young for that kind of thing”, he said gently, closing his shirt and pulling on his boots.

“I am older than I probably look to your eyes, being mehandor, but the exact figures of relative age only comp had, and comp is as much a part of an ion gas cloud now as the whole of my ship and my family is. So, relatively, I’m thirteen or a bit older, and with a mehandor youth like me, that isn’t an age to start having sexual relationships yet.  
I have spent my whole life up to now shipboard among my family and our crew, and that was relatives too with Lirela fine and fast, but small. For me, getting to know girls should have started with perhaps fifteen, at station sleepovers where I might have met daughters of other mehandor families, and where contracts and changing-of-ships could have been worked out properly by the Wives. But for me, that was some time in the future-I only left the Songbird for stops at stations of the mehandor kind and was not let out yet at the ports where we landed, understandably with the kind of ports my Taddo-my father-traded at and the kind of partners in business he had. 

You were right to think me to be kind of a shader-my father had me train how to shoot and to fight-and, I’m good at positronics and mathematics and the kind. Shipboard-and sometimes on-world or on-station too-I had to gather data as you have done it today in a different way, and that was why I didn’t balk at your request and your deed, that being kind of my profession too. Or it was, as long as my Taddo and our family lived. Now I’m the only one left, and I don’t exactly know what to do and where to go-I just know that I have to get money enough to buy another passage off-world to get to a hub station of my kind, and then we shall see further. Among my people, I surely will find contacts and a proper job-here I already have found one too, at a repair workshop. But I don’t know where to stay in the long run. The hotel here is neither safe for the kind of-of chap-I am, and neither do I wish to spend the money for too long. Can you help me, Karena? Do you know a place for me to stay, safe and cheap and, perhaps, among friends?”

With eyes wide and her head cocked in interest the young woman had listened to this speech.

“I see, Cunor”, she said slowly. “And before you worry, no, I’m not offended by your refusal of my services as a famkhartona. On the contrary-you are treating me as a friend, and that’s even better-I see you trust me with your trouble.”

She sent him a mischievous look from under her eyelashes.

“Though I doubt that you have told me the full story of your troubles yet”, she added thoughtfully and saw the boy stiffen. Yes, Karena had eyes to see and a mind to grasp matters well.

He cleared his throat. “You’ll hear more when I know you better”, he said, a bit stiffly, at which utterance she laughed.

“You are perfectly right, Cunor”, she calmly agreed, then threw a look at the door.

“About leaving right now-“she murmured, thoughtfully. “I’d better stay for the tonta you told them you had paid for. And I’d prefer not to go down too soon either with the pakka-thoi of my target man looking for the the-ah-the offender. They might think of me again if they saw me too soon, and it’s late-quite late by now. Would you let me stay here till the morrow? I’ll let you alone and would but talk a little if you like, or we could go to sleep soon too if you are tired. Tomorrow you can come with me, to the place where I stay.  
We’re a gang, and our leader is a chap called Rhonn, a fourteen-year-old who really can keep the bad ones at arm's length. If you can fight and shoot, Cunor, and make no trouble but follow his orders where the gang is concerned he’ll take you in with open arms especially if I vouch for you, and that you already have earned, and twice. We all contribute to the gang’s needs with what we have and earn, but he’ll agree with you for a contribution you can afford, seeing you will leave again and have to save your money for a passage in a ship. Our protector is a zarak-tho named Morenth, and to him, the whole district looks, those of us who are of the Ran’zarak. So you’re in a quite safe place-concerning trouble coming after you or the law or compared to you being all alone. You’ll have a bed-place and a place to put your things, and a kitchen and necessities we use together. Can you cook and wash and all the like?”

That sudden question made the young Arkonide blink sheepishly.

“Ah-no”, he confessed. “Not the kind you seem to speak of. Shipboard we had galley duty changing, but for me, that was putting on the oven or ordering the packages from the station, and see them delivered and into storage. Or checking and tending hydroponics.”

That, of course, was something he had learned well, it being part of the basic course in biology which he had attended closely-a Crystal Prince had to know biology and xeno-bio, and xenopsych to the nines, for he had to understand the needs and patterns of thought of the many peoples in the Tai Ark’Tussan.

Karena inclined her head and turned her wrist in agreement.

“That’s as I thought”, she said, the impish smile back on her face. “You have your things in meticulous order, Cunor, the few I see here. But the things I would have expected to see you have not at the ready for use.”

Atlan frowned. “Like?” he asked.

“Cleaning powder, for example”, she answered simply.

“I bought some today”, he responded, indicating the still unpacked container of his shopping goods. “But I’ll leave that unpacked till we come to your place. My jacket and my shirts-and socks and underwear-I can wash there, I suppose.”

Her white brows rose in appreciation. “So, you’re not such a helpless spacer laddie as I feared”, she said with a smile. “Good. I like chaps who can see to their needs themselves, and do not look for a nice girlie they can lure into taking care of them.”

The boy looked at her in astonishment and then laughed.

“Gods, my Mam would have had me do cleaning duty a berlon round, day-watch, and night-watch through if I had come up with airs and graces like that. But I might need first instruction upon the machines you use for washing here, and the methods. I know our ways shipboard and where I have to hit what and where I have to input what to make the machines onboard the Lirela do what I want them to do. The washing machine you use here I most likely have no clear idea of.”

She inclined her head in accepting that. “With that, I’ll help you”, she simply said. Then she frowned a little. “Do you perhaps have a bite to eat in here?” she asked. “I did not have time to eat before-the mission I had to accomplish, and now-“

Atlan grinned and spread his arms wide.

“New! Improved recipe!” he intoned, rolling his eyes. “Reddi-meal offers you the best tastes!”

Karena cringed with laughter as he went on with an exaggerated bow:” Sera, the kitchen is ready to take your orders. Two bowls I have left, and you can choose between sweet or spicy- the other one I’ll take myself, for I have become hungry again after all this excitement. The effort of cooking consists of pulling the tab, the bowl is self-heating. Within a khela, your meal is ready to be eaten.”

She stood and bowed back, making a show of it as had he-but in a different way, and the young prince gave her a wry smile, his eyes lighting up involuntarily. The girl was damn beautiful and had an enticing body, and she knew it and knew also how to show it off. But she respected the lines he had drawn, and after eating their bowls of Reddi-meal they showered-chastely separately-and crept into bed, which had room and to spare for the two, and soon were asleep.

They rose early and were ready to leave within the quarter of a tonta. Atlan put away the few items he had left lying in his spacer jacket, the technical items stacked away into the sturdy hover case, and set the cap upon his head in a steep and racy angle. Karena gave him a delighted grin, and off they went. Checking out with a bored and yawning elderly woman who had neither of them seen the previous day-they were in luck- the two youths were gone from the hotel without a trace.

“Let me invite you to a really good breakfast, Karena”, the young prince said with the little bow that was simply good manners in his eyes-actually basic-and which delighted the girl so and made her smile at him quite warmly. She agreed, and they took their meal in the restaurant where they had seen each other the first time.  
The girl was quite merry, Atlan saw, and horsed around a bit, her eyes very alive and glowing golden-red. Apparently she was very well content to bring him with to her gang-mates and was looking forward to presenting him. The young prince had taken pains to appear the mehandor youth today, the braid plaited fast and looking a bit longer and more obtrusive that way. He had to make a good impression, he knew and wanted to have them believe the role he was playing from the start. Cunor Lant’cer was out in full swing, using mehandor phrases as if in thoughtlessness, correcting himself in regular Satron only a few moments after, and had both needler gun and vibro knife ready to hand, though well concealed. He wasn’t going to try to fight anyone of the gang, he just wanted to demonstrate to them how tough and experienced a fighter he was and how well he would fit in with them, and how great an asset to the gang he could be. Karena had watched him as he had apparently matter-of-factly fitted himself out and had sent him a thoroughly approving glance. In her world and her thinking, it seemed, a boy with a gun in his pocket was one to admire and to look up to. Gods. Atlan felt as if he were in one of these adventure vid series they played on Ark’media every afternoon to delight the kids. Only this was real, and the rescuer would not miraculously come round the corner, unexpectedly at the next moment, and say something impressive and martial while all the villains turned tail and ran only seeing the sun bearer’s emblem upon the hero’s breast.

With gusto, he was spooning the ubiquitous cereal mash almost every Arkonide had for breakfast, his spicy as he liked it best while Karena had opted for a sweet dish. Both of them, in a feeling of quiet celebration of their acquaintance and for sheer luxury, had ordered mixed fruits too which they took up with the three sticks in between, savouring the meal and two cups of really hot and sweet k’amana.  
At the back of the dining room the news feed ran, covering a swimming resort at the coast somewhere at the moment, and Atlan felt at peace for once and quite relaxed.  
That changed abruptly with the morning news coming in, with loud music and fanfares. The first line-“Power plant catastrophe” said it all to the young Arkonide. The pamarthanor, the reporter, stood in front of a real catastrophe of fire and water, machines and robots and firemen in safe-suits milling around. The pictures one saw, dramatically underlined with drums, were spectacular indeed. 

The young prince’s head had shot up, and almost open-mouthed he stared at the devastation he had apparently wrought. The power plant he had hidden the life-boat in was gone, plain gone. Instead, an enormous crater gaped, with a swirling vortex of water roaring at the bottom. The sides of that hole in the ground were glazed, an inevitable sign of a high-energetic explosion having taken place.

On-screen an agitated fireman talked about the catastrophe, declaring himself unable to explain the cause of that power plant having gone up like that, and could at least assure the questioning reporter that no sentient being had been taken by the blow-up-at least no traces of genetic material had been found.  
The Services were investigating, he said and thought vile sabotage a possibility. But of course, the water had taken any loose pieces away with the force it had broken into the new cavern, and if there had been traces or pieces no-one could say right now…

Atlan exhaled under his breath. Gods, he was lucky. He was so lucky. KOLLOSS men were visible in the background, the yellow yilld unmistakeable upon their uniforms, but they were investigating in vain, as it seemed. They might of course suspect that here the missing lifeboat had blown up, but there was no proof for that, and that their escapee might be in the capital was as logical and unprovable as ever before. Ha! Merakon his guardian god be thanked!

Looking around the young Crystal prince suddenly met the gaze of the young sex-worker who was staring at him with eyes wide and her face quite pale.

“That was you, Cunor!” she whispered.

Atlan was shocked. ”What?!” he whispered back as urgently. “Why do you think I-“

“You were absolutely fascinated by that report, Cunor, and reacted to it as if you knew what had gone on there, and you were so relieved when they said they didn’t know what had happened! I’m no fool, merchanter chap! You exhaled, and you had perfectly paled before and then got back some colour-what’s one of our power plants to you, you who come from space and have lost your ship? Yet you reacted like that-Cunor, what’s up? The KOLLOSS is searching high and low for a criminal who’s escaped a prison ship, they say he’s a slight and short man-is that you they are looking for? You said the hotel room wasn’t safe for you-why if you didn’t have to hide from official authorities?”

Atlan sat absolutely stiffly and didn’t know what to say or to do. Karena was sharp, much too sharp, and clear-sighted. Of course, he could deny everything, and she had no proof at all for her surmises. But if she went up to the authorities with those suspicions and described him, and said where she had met him-

Her hand reached out and covered his. Looking firmly into the eyes of her new mehandor friend the girl said very softly but clearly:” Cunor, I’m the last one to go up to the authorities and cry a brekkar in the duct. KOLLOSS is about the worst shitters on this world, they’re brutal and care nothing for justice or the law, and are but henchmen and enforcers of government, and the government is as corrupt and lawless and unjust as you can think of and more.  
But I need to know-no-one of us is at peace with the law, and all of us have something to run and hide from, so you’re among friends in that too. But to help you properly I need to know what to avoid and where you might get into trouble! Government and the KOLLOSS is quite a stiff drink, acidic instead of simply sour like an Essoya-tell me, Cunor, what’s up with you?”

The young prince took a shaking breath. She was not his enemy, there was hope and a chance at sincere help still, even under the circumstances of him telling the truth; relatively, just translated into the world and life of Cunor Lant’cer. Without any further preamble, he began to explain and tell his story.

“Lirela didn’t meet an accident or was blown up-she was hijacked and my family members were murdered one by one in the most hideous ways. Taddo they had in a tanglefield on the bridge and made him watch-I saw much of it too, Mam they killed with a sonic grenade, right into her stomach which ripped little Getray asunder too-Mam was pregnant-and Kel my brother they cut up with knives many times, I slipped and fell into his blood spreading upon the floor. And uncle Deni they strangled and broke his neck, right in front of my eyes-I escaped and ran, and they went after me and tried to gas me, but I held my breath and got out, it was my ship you see, I knew the slipways-and I escaped in a pod and drifted off and saw our Songbird bloom into fire and then she was gone, and me they didn’t find-I was too far off. I was brought in by the miners of Firing base and ran from there-ran to escape and ran to find the murderers too, it’s what my family has left me-our songs and the memories and the Name and the Blood, and the revenge my dead ones are due. But they were after me, and I had no idea who they were, Karena, and the why of it all-  
I still haven’t, and I must find out before they get me again. The last ship I flew with had them on board too, and we had a merry-go-round in there with gunfire all in when they grabbed for me. So I ran again-got into a life-boat when that ship slowed down insystem and raced it around the horizon of the only planet I could see, and rode it down into the atmosphere.  
I landed pat and hid the boat, and got here, thought I could call our Nocto-Nos or some such thing and get off-world again with an honest trader-and then I had another shock when I saw that the murderers of my family had landed here and were hand-in-glove with the authorities and their services here, and had closed off the spaceport. I can’t even go to the police or any official agency, Karena, no matter that I personally am perfectly innocent of anything! They are searching for me all right, no matter I’m just a lone boy, having no idea what’s going on! So I blew up the boat to hide my whereabouts-they cannot know it was the boat exploded, or the plant.  
They tried to get me, had me locked in already on their ship -but I think they’d hesitate with killing me, seems they want to know something first. But there’s a lot I want to know too, first of all, the who and why and how. So I’m running and hiding, and stalking as well-and tell me now, Karena, am I too dangerous a thrai for your gang to take in? Because if I am, I’ll ask you to sit still and let me go without any fuss, and beg you to forget me and my tale.”

The girl had listened gravely, her dark red eyes never leaving the young prince’s face, her hand still covering his. Now she slowly put up her chin in denial.

“No, Cunor-you’re not too dangerous, on the contrary, you’re damn honest with me and true-I can tell that you told me real truth right now. Gods, I am so sorry for you, my friend. I promise I will be your friend, and my gang-mates too, Rhonn for sure. He’s had some pretty hard experiences in is life too, and so have I-we might understand you better than you believe right now, Cunor, but you’ll see. You will be safe with us, and we will help you as you have helped me. Trust me, merchanter chap.”

She rose a little in her seat and leaned forward, and kissed Atlan’s cheek, a gesture so familiar and warm-hearted that sudden tears came to his eyes, and one or two rolled down his cheeks. She smiled at him merrily. 

“Up with us, Cunor! Eat up and off we will be. The sooner you are away from the port district the better, and the shitters can search for you till their faces turn black.”

Infinitely relieved Atlan laughed, near to tears still, and delved into his mash again as she had told him to. Gods, he was no longer that helplessly alone and might find a place to stay among friends-  
For a moment the crystal sphere guarding his heart threatened to dissolve, and his emotions were near to flooding the young prince. But he kept a tight rein upon himself, realizing that he would have to do a good meditation this evening at the latest, and would have to face and reintegrate his emotions again. The pressure was mounting within him-not good, and apart from that, he still was much too near to all the painful experiences he had had and was not near as well-balanced out and in harmony with himself as he would have wanted to be. He needed some more effective protection against too intense emotional reactions- of pain and fear especially. The mental Dagor Goth shield would have to be strengthened, and the Wave to let pain slide by would have to be used too, in a modified way, to deal with surprise and shock, and emotional pain instead of the physical kind. He could not afford to be so unstable in an environment that aggressive where he had to stay on his toes ceaselessly, having to give the slip to the authorities and their services as well as having to face and deal with a criminal street gang and its members, their undoubtedly existing opponents threatening him then too. 

He had to be as alert and ready for a hair-trigger reaction as he was when he was running a room-if he knew he was facing a Situation he could prepare himself, granted, and had done quite well upon this world already. But when he was confronted with something unexpected he was slower to react, and got caught too easily. The girl here had surprised him two times now, and it had been his glorious luck that she was full of good-will and had not meant him harm, on the contrary. But in both cases-with her sudden appearance at his hotel room, and now, with her sharp observations and swift conclusions, catching on and understanding the situation, he had been on the defensive and had not known what to do. He was in an alien environment now and did not know what to expect, and so was not ready to react in ways he might need here, it was as simple as that. But if he was caught, and got back into the hands of the murderers again, the whole of the Tai Ark’Tussan might suffer for his stupidity and slowness, not only his family or the Imperator himself. So he had to be hair-trigger ready all the time, and that was hard to do and might mean a mighty strain on him, psychologically and mentally and emotionally and simply physically, on nerves and muscles. He would be low on sugar and body fat too soon-damn. A meditation might do the trick. He had to be Cunor even better, had to identify him with a really good symbol-not just a sword, but the Sword itself, the Sword Flung Out, which raced through space, turning, unstoppable, mercilessly sharp and swift. 

He had to put himself upon fast-forward, and that all the time as he did when he had to memorize and to study a lot and had to present flawless marks upon a test or a paper within the shortest order-and see to it he kept the knowledge and that lesson in his mind for longer. Simply passively taking in hypno-schooling did not do the trick of really mastering a subject or a new skill, not by far.

“Hey, Cunor. You zhyreelénn yet?”

She was asking whether he was back in balance, in inner harmony-no, he was not, not by far, but he knew his way there now. And his way with her-Karena was obviously very moved when she was faced with someone who trusted her with the truth. Understandable, with a sex-worker, who probably heard all the time how people lied knowingly or subconsciously, falling for the illusions they had about themselves.

He looked up, gazing firmly into her eyes, and smiled wryly.

“Sorry, Karena-no, not yet, not fully. You know, I’ve felt that alone and the target all the time lately, was without friends in a world I barely knew-I have been with my family all my life, like in a safe shell, without knowing I was. And then the shell broke and went up in blood and flame, and-I had lost everyone and everything, all I knew and was on the run. You’re the first person who has offered me help and who is ready to take me into a group for free, in this new life of mine. I-emotionally nearly am overwhelmed.”

She laughed outright. “And that you say in such an earnest way, in such a controlled manner-Cunor, anyone I know would not have a single tear rolling down his cheek, he would throw a tantrum and swear, or some such like-and do not forget, merchanter chap, the generous one from the start was you. You agreed to help me first and did so, quite spectacularly. So, fair’s fair, merchanter chap. Rhonn will be delighted to have such a hard-nosed and well-controlled fighter in the gang.”

Atlan felt his face light up all the way, and that was not just for show. It seemed that the discipline he had had to observe all his life was for some good here and now too, upon this planet of the oily season.  
They were done with mash and fruit and k’amana very soon after and left, the girl walking with her friend very ostentatiously, her arm linked with his, and headed for the Hub and public transport, a train that went by magnetic fields on a rail, very primitive, but simple and fail-proof, as Karena averred.

The access to the Hub was blocked. KOLLOSS men with fighter robots backing them let people through only singly, controlling their ID cards and even inspecting large luggage cases. The girl felt her newfound friend stiffen at her side-but only for a moment, then Cunor went on, straight for the line that had formed, acting as if nothing was untoward but for the time spent in waiting, which people complained of sotto voce-no-one dared to protest loudly right in front of the security men, a plain sign of their brutality and the fear they instigated. The hover case with the young prince’s worldly possessions upon this planet hummed after them-if they inspected that, they would find questionable material galore in there, apart from cleaning material and disinfectant in quantities one could wonder at. But Atlan kept himself in a tight rein and did not give any sign of flinching or balking.

Karena sent him an admiring glance, and then added something else of her own invention when they came nearer to the point where the security men controlled.  
She began to ostentatiously snuggle against the youth’s body and drew him tighter to her, the friendly but detached contact with each other becoming that of very close friends, if not lovers. Acting as if she hid behind the broad back of the man in front of them, but actually letting herself be seen plainly by the two KOLLOSS men at the side she breathed a kiss upon Atlan’s cheek, and when he turned his face to her, smiling sweetly-he had caught on-and murmured an endearment she kissed him on the mouth, fully, and embraced him very tightly.  
The young prince responded, embracing and kissing her back, apparently oblivious to the fact that they were becoming visible indeed, as the broad-shouldered man went on and a little space formed in front of them. 

“Hey you, sweeties! Done with smooching a morning in full view of all? If yes, move on! We others have work in front of us instead of a bed-get going, pretty sweeties!” a man behind them called out, his critique at least halfway good-natured, Atlan could tell by the tone of the voice. Of course, they stood fully in the center of attention now, and no less of the attention of the security men. 

Ostentatiously flinching and jumping apart the two young culprits went on swiftly, and Karena, artfully blushing fiercely, saw with contentment and some admiration that her merchanter friend had a reddened face too-whether he could blush consciously as could she or was embarrassed in truth despite their play-acting she could not say, but it was truly helpful and added the sheen of reality to their performance as they hurried into the scrutiny of the KOLLOSS men. 

Behind the dimming face-plate of the fighting suit, the foremost one grinned as he wordlessly stuck out his gloved hand for their IDs, which were handed to him with some haste.  
But Karena made a point of apparently subconsciously taking the hand of her friend, which Atlan responded to likewise. It was absolutely true, again-people believed easily what they wanted to believe, and were led to believe. Words counted less than appearances did, and images-and the automatic interpretation and conclusions the watcher made. Hiding in plain sight, behind a misleading appearance, was the best mask possible. No-one who wanted to escape notice would draw it, wasn’t that logical? Gods, so logical… Atlan was absolutely fascinated with seeing that the dictums of Sek-athor Kehene, experienced Golamo officer and his teacher concerning Security and Golamo matters, were proven and coming true in practice “out in the field”, not only under the controlled circumstances of training and Running Rooms.  
Whether the other security men were amused or stayed grim he could not see, nor whether they were perhaps just bored. But the two of them were let through without delay and hurried on to the platform where a train was just coming in, which they boarded and which carried them away from danger with more speed than Atlan had put past the simple vehicle.

Rhonn, at more than fourteen, was tall and muscular for his age and sported a tattoo at his left shoulder that reached up to cover part of the neck, an elaborate Triangle within a circle of suns, with flourishes. He was more prone to grimly frown than to smile or laugh –one could see that from the lines upon his narrow face-but he accepted the stranger at least for a first inspection at Karena’s urgent recommendation.

Atlan, in spacer jacket and with the cap at a rakish angle, his braid short but visible, very much looked the merchanter boy the girl had introduced him as.

“You got weapons with you?” Rhonn asked him shortly, arms akimbo and standing most impressive from the tousled mane of silvery glittering hair to rakish black jacket and hose, down to worn but perfectly functional street boots.

“Yes”, the young prince answered as shortly, standing perfectly still, hands empty and visible at his sides, and let the gang leader look him over calmly. Rhonn frowned.

“What?”

“A needler gun and a vibro-knife.”

The left corner of the older youth’s mouth went up in derision. “A vibro-knife isn’t much of a weapon.”

Atlan smiled back, coldly and sharply. “Want to see me fight with it?” he asked in a surprisingly gentle tone.

Rhonn’s golden-red eyes narrowed and he looked the younger boy over again, provocatively slowly. Then he began to smile a little too.

“Perhaps not”, he replied, his voice warmer and more friendly now. “Or rather-only when you fight our rivals and not one of us.”

Unexpectedly he reached out and took Atlan’s left hand into his. The young prince kept himself from reacting, though he had flinched shortly. Rhonn would not attack him right now, would he?

“No scars. A soft and secure spacer life you have had, merchanter boy”, the gang leader murmured, looking into his face.

Which was not exactly true. But the few deeper scratches the young prince had caught in training and with the Dagor lessons, including kath training, had been healed by the really excellent Yoner madruls of the Gos Khasurn, and Yon Theran in particular who made use of tissue re-sealing to make any wound or scar disappear again. A Crystal Prince was the representative of his people before the Gods and had to be unmarred, to be flawless-not theologically, but for the sense of propriety, of seemliness, in the sense of aesthetics and, of course, which was the main reason-one had to appear as a perfect and superior being, for political and psychological reasons.

“But your hand bears witness to regular fighting practice. Which kind?”

“Dagor.”

Rhonn whistled through his teeth. “Not bad, merchanter guy, not bad.”

Not only he looked impressed a bit, the others, standing around, seemed so too, Atlan noticed. Rhonn inclined his head a little and turned away, to a younger boy of about thirteen or a little older-and suddenly whirled around, attacking with a truly vicious kick which should have taken the merchanter boy unawares and would painfully have downed him.  
But the young prince had seen him change his stance and knew in time. Stepping back and twisting out of the way, blocking a murderous hit with arm and elbow was no hard work and came easily and naturally. 

The gang leader whirled around and struck with fists and a second kick which Atlan had harder work to block and avoid. With a third attack, the elder youth would have him at a disadvantage if he didn’t counterattack, which he, therefore, had to do –now.  
Ducking low under another missing strike of Rhonn’s arm the young prince hit him with hand’s edge and fist into the side and back, just above the kidney. With a strangled gasp Rhonn went down, his knees giving. On the way he tried to kick once more, but only lost his balance further and fell, barely catching himself well enough to arrive on the floor in a sitting position. With a roll and a whirl, Atlan was at his back and knelt, threw his arm around the puffing youth’s throat and yanked back his head, the fingertips of his right hand stabbing beside the neck and beneath the shoulder blade at Rhonn’s right side, effectively paralyzing the older youth’s right arm and hand.

“Oww!” the gang leader cried out and tried in vain to move his arm. His left hand shot up but was blocked by his opponent’s elbow who pressed in his arm now, taking off some of Rhonn’s air. Wisely he sat still now, trying to get as much air as he could with deep gasps. Atlan let up the strangling grip a little to let him breathe unhindered.

“If I had drawn my knife now I could have slit your throat, or I could have broken your neck with a twist and a pull, just within a sarton”, he said calmly in a conversational tone.  
“Of course that would not have accounted for your friends, who would have attacked me too if worst came to worst. But believe me, I am a quite good marksman and would have gotten several of them with my gun before I’d gone down myself. Perhaps I would even have managed to get out-I’ve trained to do somersaults up and down our ship’s gym since I was three.”

Carefully he let go of Rhonn and got up, waiting for the gang leader’s reaction. The other boys and girls looked even more impressed, but no-one made a threatening or hostile move.

The older youth sat for another khela, getting back his wind and balance, breathing hard and then chuckling softly, slowly and with an effort scrambling up.

“Not bad at all, merchanter chap”, he said, his voice getting back its strength. “You’ll be an asset to the gang-if you give your word to obey me and look to our interests.”

With a twisted smile, he turned to the young prince and held out his left hand- the right one still hung down paralyzed.  
Relieved and glad to be accepted Atlan took it and suddenly was pulled towards the older boy with surprising speed and strength, getting ripped off his feet and thrown to the ground with a mighty twist.  
Atlan rolled aside with all the speed he could muster, but Rhonn had had surprise at his side this time and sprang after him, kicking the younger boy into the side, which made Atlan cry out and fold in, and had the sole of his boot upon the young prince’s throat the next moment.

“And if I tread down now with all strength, I will crush your windpipe and perhaps break your neck too, merchanter boy”, he remarked coolly, his red eyes flashing. “Never trust in fair play or any rule, among shaders and gang-guys-or gals. That’s something you should learn as soon as possible if you want to survive here.”

Carefully Rhonn took off his foot and stood back, massaging his right shoulder with a grimace, while Atlan slowly sat up and leaned forward, his arms holding his middle, and tried to get his breath back. The gang-leader had kicked him quite hard, but not in a way that would have done true damage. It just hurt-gods, it hurt considerably. But he would get over it within half a tonta; he knew that from previous experiences at Dagor training bouts.

With another deep breath, the young prince looked up and met the gaze of the older boy who looked down at him.

“Really good performance”, he admitted. “I’ll take that lesson to heart-and will remember your advice.”

Rhonn flicked his wrist and smiled a little. “Then you have a chance to live well with us, merchanter chap. Come on up.” He held out his left hand a second time, and Atlan decided to trust him. Another round of fighting would have made no sense.

And it did not. Rhonn pulled the younger boy up and grimaced. “What did you do to my arm?” he grumbled. “I still don’t feel anything but a burning sensation.”

Atlan grinned. “Wait for half a tonta, and it will be fully functional again”, he assured the older youth. “I only punched the nerve knots sufficiently to disable you somewhat. You’ve got a lot more striking power than I do, and I wasn’t keen to get a black eye or a bone broken by you.”

“Sufficiently, Gods”, the gang-leader retorted, a slow grin appearing upon his face. “The way you downed me was new to me too. As I said-you’ll be an asset.”

The young prince cleared his throat. “As to obeying your word”, he said, firmly looking into the gang leader’s face and holding his gaze.

“I will, to the point, where it concerns the gang and-ah-internal matters. But where it comes to outside actions, so to say, to fights with other gangs or to actions following the request of a person you cannot gainsay, as Karena put it so elegantly-I don’t want to be caught by the police in illegal or even criminal doings, not when I can help it. I’m not going to stay, I only ask you for a place to live in safety till I have earned money enough to buy me a good passage off this planet to a station of my kind where I can get on from further. I’m willing to give you part of my earnings as my contribution to living, we’ll have to make a Deal about that, and I’m going to conform to your wishes, if they are not too outrageous-but I do not wish to be involved in a raid at a shop, either for stealing or for making trouble or hurting someone, for example, or in theft or burglary or fraud or some such actions. It’s not that I’m squeamish, it’s because I’m not from here and must have a free lane to leave when I can, and because I have my own troubles and cannot afford to come to the attention of the authorities.”

Rhonn stood frowning, his arms crossed. “What kind of trouble?” he asked shortly.

Atlan took a deep breath. His being accepted with the gang was balancing upon the sword’s edge now, he knew it.

“Authorities”, he answered. “Karena here has the full story, and I do not mind you know it too. At the shortest, my father’s enemies killed my ship and my family, and I ran as the sole survivor, and ended up here, where I was faced with the fact that my family’s murderers had followed me and were searching for me, and have the help of state police here upon this world. How they can be hand-in-glove with your KOLLOSS here I have no idea…”

Rhonn grimaced. “A really substantial bribe for our corrupt Tato, Trento kel Tharú, and some more gunk into the hand of the SSP boss, and off they go, takes very little time, pal, only a fat bank account at a trustworthy bank. If you cannot outbid them you are in for it, merchanter chap.”

The young prince gave a hollow laugh. “Right now I’m doing my best to be kept on at a repair workshop, where I have found a job on trial”, he said. “It’ll take some time until I have saved enough to leave.”

Rhonn raised his brows. “Diligent and hard-working, are you?” he murmured, his pose unchanged.

“Yes, I try to.” Atlan felt a little desperate. “Look, I need to have a safe place where the SSP cannot find me that easily. A hotel is no comfortable lair, it’s a gambling hazard for me, and too expensive as well in the long run. I’m perfectly innocent of any crime, but that’s neither here nor there with them, as much I’ve understood, and neither is it with the murderers of my people, whose names and reasons I do not know at all yet. I really hope that I’m not too high a risk for you-I’ll promise to keep my head down and keep out of sight much as I can if you think that necessary.”

“That’s not the point.” The gang leader frowned thoughtfully. “The KOLLOSS is a hard adversary to face, but they can kiss my ass for all that I care. The matter I have trouble with is another. I understand your reasons for wanting to be left out with-what you call outside actions. But I cannot afford to take in a person who is not a member of the gang, but only a boarder-either you are with us and fight with us, or you are out and leave, now, merchanter chap. I can accept leaving you out with burglary or theft, but with gang-fights, we can use your fighting power too well, Cunor, and I’m not going to pass it by.” 

Atlan inclined his head and turned his wrist. He saw the older youth’s point, of course.

“I understand that and accept. I’ll fight with you in such a fight if you so will it. If they are coming at us, me fighting at your side is pure self-defense, is it not? And if we go for them, that could be a case of preventive force applied, can’t it? That’s all right. I can argue that out.”

Rhonn laughed outright, surprised at these quite juristic expressions. “So, then”, he murmured, his arms opening as he rubbed his chin. 

“About contribution. Merchanter chap, you wanted a Deal-so here it is: You can keep your money but for when we are really in need of food or energy. In exchange for your living with us for as long as you please, I want you to teach me and the others, whoever wishes to, your Dagor tricks and fighting style, and you’ll be a member of our gang by full right, obey me where it concerns the gang and our interests and will be safe with us. Deal?”

“Deal. You have my word.” The young prince took the gang leader’s outstretched hand and squeezed it, with a smile and a long sigh of relief. Gods, he was glad to be let in. The few berlons he would be stuck upon this planet he would not be able to teach these street-kids much of Dagor, but for the basics and a few “tricks”, as Rhonn called it, the time might suffice. He would not cheat them in this, then.

The older youth smiled and held the younger one’s hand a few heartbeats longer. “And you have mine, Cunor.”

Atlan gave a little bow and saw Karena smile exultantly from the corner of his eye. Eager to get even better regard with the gang leader whom he had just given his word to obey, he added:  
“I suppose, prevention goes a long way. I’m good at getting data out of positronicons and getting information of all kinds. Do you have a halfway decent ‘tronic terminal? If you do, I might help you with spying out your opponents and finding out about what they want to keep secret. Might give you an advantage over them.” And he would have easy and danger-free access to such data as well, without having to look for it desperately. 

Rhonn crossed his arms again and leaned back a little, a luykanth grin appearing upon his face while he whistled through his teeth. “A hacker, are you, spacer guy?” he breathed.

Oh. That sounded-too professional and criminal, but in fact-considering that he was used to dealing with and dupe GolamoNet, and knew how to slip into Tu-ra-cel Lines and out of them undetected-yes, one could call him a hacker.

“Yes.” Atlan gave that burning look back firmly, realizing he had just given away himself in a dangerous manner, kicking himself in his mind. In his eagerness, he had jumped into this trap on his own.  
But how could he have avoided letting them see that he was good at dealing with a ‘tronic and at getting data in the long run, with them watching him?  
If he owned up to his knowledge and showed it, he had to account for it as well and had to explain it. Education and instruction at the Gos Khasurn he could of course not admit to-so he must explain his abilities in another way.  
All that came to his mind in a hurry was that his father Aloroy must have used him to get data and information undercover for him-from other ship’s positronics, for example, and from the data storage of his business partners or opponents, at stations and planet-side. 

Any other way the extensive knowledge and skill of a twelve-year-old-thirteen, up to fourteen, as he said he was-was not probable and made no sense. His abilities at working with positronics and with mathematics he would not be able to conceal once he sat down at that terminal. On the other hand, under these circumstances, he would be able to use that terminal also for his own ends and would not have to look for access somewhere else and run Gods-knew what risks using it. It was to his own greatest advantage if he worked for his new friends as a –hacker. Gods, if his instructors ever learned about this-

But he was Cunor Lant’cer, and for him, that was but natural and had been his contribution to his father’s enterprises, and had been part of the family’s assets. The Lant’cers were mehan’zaraki, weren’t they?

What also followed was that he could not have spent his whole life sequestered upon that ship, the Lirela. If he had had to get data, he would have had to slip into ‘tronic rooms, on-station and in the houses his father had told him to. He must have been good at cracking locks and concealing tracks, physically and within ‘tronic systems-as he was, thanks to Sek-athor Kehene, getting trained at running those Rooms. Then, also-under cover, but under which cover?

The young prince’s thoughts were racing. He had to come up with a plausible life-story very fast, if Rhonn asked on, as he seemed to be about to do.  
Wait-there was that romantic story they had watched one evening on the vid, the one Thora had been squealing about so much. There had been a villainous noble, an On, who had taken on the Mayth’dol fam, the Beloved Mistress of a brave and famous Eldrith prince who had fallen in battle. She had fled the machinations of a rival who wanted to marry the mekhon’s cousin and heir apparent and escaped with her young son, who was the rightful heir. That On treated her awfully, but for the sake of her son’s safety, she took it all, till the time came for the son to be of age and he was to be told whose son he truly was… Right. He could use that story, with some changes, of course, and it was a plausible explanation also for his “fine manners”, upon which he had heard more than one comment now upon Tela-vhelor and with which he already had drawn attention. Those manners, involuntarily used, might give him away if he could not explain them away in a probable manner. Mehandor culture was polite and accommodating, especially to clients and customers, but hard-nosed and business-like upon the other hand, and did not care for too many fine manners. Among themselves, good-natured familiarity was the tone of dealing with each other. The manners he had displayed, and which had drawn attention to his dismay, were those of a noble and apparently too ingrained in his personality and behaviour to be omitted without a trace. The gang-members, whom he would live with, would notice soon, and perhaps already had-surely Karena had, by her smile-right now. Gods. He had bowed to Rhonn, surely about the first bow that shader youth had gotten in his life.

But, if the discarded mistress of an On had taught him, so he could play roles and could impersonate the son of a well-to-do family, perhaps even the son of a noble-then his behaviour and manners were explicable.  
She must have educated him along those lines, teaching him noble behaviour, along with her own son, who was the unacknowledged son of that On, who had thrown out mistress and son the moment she wanted that acknowledgment and threatened to make demands on behalf of her son-yes, that fit. Or that On had died and she had run from the widow and the acknowledged heir. Lesanna was to be his father’s second wife, then, and he had known his blood-mother, the mehandor Wife, only very little till she had died when he was very young. They must have been friends, his true-mother, and the woman he knew as his mother all his conscious life. Kel was the On’s son and had been adopted by his father with the marriage, and Lesanna and Kel had appeared in glamorous roles, drawing all the attention, while he-acting the good and dull younger son- had, under the cover of their glamour, broken into ‘tronic data storages and had gotten information his father needed for deals and perhaps other matters. Good. Very good, a dramatic story to the taste of Thora or Crysalgira, to cover for his Eldrith peculiarities, Gods knew-but from Golamo data he knew that even far more bizarre stories happened in reality, and it was very near to the truth where Lesena ma Thyrenn was concerned.

Rhonn was giving him a long look, an eager glitter in those golden-red eyes.

“Cunor, with that you could be of even greater use to us than I had expected. Aday, here, is our tronic’ whizz-kid”-he indicated a tall and thin boy of about thirteen, a bit younger than the more muscular one the gang-leader had turned to before-“ and can introduce you with our terminal. If you can get through the lock within-“ he exchanged a look with Aday, who was grinning confidently-“ half a tonta, you’re in with my closest pals.”

Meaning, he would be among the top ones of the gang, not among those who had to obey everyone else’s wishes, Atlan understood. That was a real incentive.

The young prince smiled and consciously gave a little bow, in a slightly exaggerated way, so that it had a touch of funny.

“Te, mekh”, he intoned, and made an exact turn upon his heel, in perfect military posture. The gang members began to laugh, even Rhonn grinned broadly.

“You’ve got a talent for acting, merchanter chap”, he said, in a definitely appreciative tone. “What a shame you will not help us with-ah-outside actions. You could be such a good chappa to cover our more subtle workings…”

“A chappa?” The young mehandor seemed to be at a loss.

“A chappasor”, Karena explained gently. “Someone who diverts attention, plays the decoy, and deceives the watchers while something else goes on unnoticed.”

“Oh.” Cunor’s cheeks coloured a little. “A Skorgi. I understand. That’s what my mother and my brother did for me, while I-used my talents according to my father’s wishes.”

Rhonn whistled through his teeth again, while Karena had an enlightened and quite delighted look upon her face.

“Not new to that kind of action, are you, Cunor?” he asked. “I see. Would you agree to help us if we had to get information somewhere, for someone?”

Atlan hesitated. Exactly that kind of “outside activities” he had just said he’d want to be left out of-but theft and burglary, with possible violence, were a somewhat different matter, weren’t they? And it was exactly the kind of work he would have to do for his own ends-he might filch data for his new friends, and at the same mission might get data for himself, not left alone on his own, but undercover and with the support of the gang!

“Yes.” The young prince looked straight into the eyes of the gang leader. “If I can stay out of general notice and do not have to be the Skorgi-the chappa. Drawing official attention to me is the last thing I want.”

Rhonn beamed and gave the younger boy a slap on the back that threw Atlan a step forward. “Great! Then show us what you can do!”

Aday was obviously very proud of the elderly but well-tended terminal. That it was his domain became clear the very moment he moved forward, and the others stayed back, even Rhonn did though he kept himself to the fore.  
Prudently watching where he stepped with whose sensibilities Atlan was keeping himself back too till he was invited to sit in the battered swivel-chair by the young ‘tronic master, and told to lock-in.

Of course, the ‘tronic wasn’t going to allow that. It reported itself locked and demanded ID and password, acting out the most basic of functions.

The young prince had a closer look at the hardware. On the shelf behind the terminal sat a row of gadgets, interconnected by lines and wires that were either welded on or stuck into the proper contacts. Here it was not just improvisation, he saw at first glance. This was the work of someone who was working around standard hardware and programs to improve their ranges and effectiveness and to allow functions and work that normally would have been locked or would have been impossible to do, access denied.  
Raising his brows he turned the chair around and looked at Aday, who showed a smug countenance.

“That’s really sophisticated work”, he said. “I bet that terminal could tap into quite advanced systems without leaving any traces of access-if one knows how to do it.”

The young ‘tronic master flicked his wrist in agreement. His eyes gleamed excitedly. With that one remark the new boy in the gang had won his heart and his appreciation-if Cunor could see what these extensions and connections were for, he was good enough at a positronicon to work with this highly manipulated one too-if he got in.

“I could of course make use of one of my gadgets”, Atlan added, thoughtfully viewing the array, “ but I don’t know what I’d be messing up then. I bought my equipment only yesterday here in Makarsa, my own things got turned to dust with our ship.”

Deliberately he did not turn to see the minute reactions of the gang-mates to these words. He had to make them believe that the Lirela’s destruction was longer ago than the murders upon the TONDON. Lirela had exploded almost a Votan ago, and so he would tell it. His running, and travel here, would have taken time too, and that relation fit. 

“Let’s see what I can do with Mirror Mode.”

Aday frowned while the young mehandor put in a long string of numbers instead of an unlock code or an ID the ‘tronic would take. He knew in theory what a mirror mode was, but he had no idea how to put it into effect.

“For that, you’d have to use a ‘tronic pad”, he remarked.  
The screen of the terminal suddenly opened up, though all accesses were still blocked. The lock-in program still asked ID and code, but it showed all the other accesses on screen, which it shouldn’t have done, as long as it was locked.

Atlan heard the sharp intake of breath from Aday as his fingers flashed over the input pad and gave in another long string of numbers.

“That’d be a mistake with the modifications you’ve made, which I do not know anyway. Your lock would notice it’s being hijacked by another ‘tronic-as you know, it’s automatically reading the contact signature-and would clamp down tight the next mithron. I haven’t combed and adjusted my own equipment yet that it’d go mirror mode on your lock, or that it’d go skorgon-I mean invisible-on it. So I go by simplified direct input.”

“For that, you’d have to do the calcs in your head!”

Atlan turned and looked up at Aday, grinning.

“I’m good at mathematics, and besides, there’s a simple formula a lot of people do not know. In fact, most of our starter ’tronic inputs follow a general basic structure, and once you can hijack that, you’re in with the Deal. So the maths I can do in my head suffice for the simplest inlock-your ‘tronic will go “full caution” on me, but it will accept another input, and accept full mirror mode then.”

“This I’ve got to see.” Aday leaned forward, his arm resting on the chair’s back, his light-red eyes burning.

“Right.” Atlan showed the other youth the icons and flashers that had come up as a reaction to his new numbers.

“It’s telling me I’m not welcome, but it hasn’t thrown me out. Yet. So let’s make it believe it is you who calls…”

The young prince tapped in another line of numbers. He kept to the necessary simplicity-no living brain, at least not that of an Arkonide without an activated extra-brain-could deliver better calculations than a ’tronic pad. 

“Gods! Aww, zhak’shon!” Aday said out loud when the display changed and the ‘tronic menu opened up fully on-screen.

“Gotcha!” Cunor Lant’cer murmured with deep satisfaction in his tone and let his fingers flash the more rapidly across the input pad. “Mirror mode implemented. The ‘tronic thinks me to be you and gives all the codes and ID data to itself. And it also gives me full notice on what you’ve been doing these last Votani-it’s ready to repeat all the actions you’ve ordered, see that symbol?”

“I’ve protected all my actions with changing interlock-codes, additionally!” Aday said urgently, with suppressed panic in his voice.

“So you’ve done, and well. But the ‘tronic thinks it’s you on the pad, and it gives all the codes to itself constantly-it doesn’t realize it’s interacting with itself, and therefore it doesn’t store any data of what it is doing, and therefore can’t see it’s doing it. Good bargain additionally: if you have a look at the actions’ storage, you’ll see it come up blank-nothing stored, noting recorded. I’m invisible and non-existing with all I do right now.”

“Payna zayna”, Aday murmured.

“Crooked stuff? True. But it’s beautiful payna zayna, you’ll have to admit that.”

“Gods. Yes.” The youth took a deep breath. “Cunor, show me.”

Atlan smiled up at him. “With pleasure-we’ll close an exchange deal. The things you’ve done with your hardware are parts of them new to me. The only problem is that you can’t use mirror mode without maths in your head as I do, and for that one needs training for Tai-Votani. We’ll have to find a way to dupe the ‘tronic with a pad’s presence.”

“How?”

“Skorge’ projector-a few of them, of different kinds and ways of application. I’ve got an idea or two.”

“That was a time of seven khelas”, Rhonn interjected with a sharp smile and eyes aglow. “And it would have been shorter if you had not taken the time to explain your doings, Cunor. You’re in at the top. Welcome into the gang, merchanter mate.”

Smiling Atlan got up and gave a little bow-consciously now-and saw how delighted the girls were by these fine manners. A lot of grasping of hands came next, and introductions all around.

Rhonn at more than fourteen was the oldest and the leader, and the best at fighting by far, and extremely good at tinkering of any kind. His second-in-command was the muscular thirteen-year-old, actually thirteen passed, named Selaron, who shared the tinkering occupation, and was the best driver in the gang; then came Enteko who was very good at games of chance and Aday the ‘tronic whizz-kid at about thirteen. 

Jhaftokan was almost thirteen, of an age to start work, and had begun to help out at a cleaning business, a few tontas a prago, on and off, earning too little to live off it, but getting more money by fraud, as he said, grinning, though he kept silent about which kind of fraud.

Of that age Karena was too, legally working as a famkarthona, a sex-worker, out at hotels or even here in her own room which had the best and broadest and most comfortable bed, Rhonn said with a wink.

Tirako and Irjona were both passed twelve, actually older a bit than Atlan was in truth, and did small jobs at a restaurant, on and off, and at a transport business. Selko and Selyke, the twins, were a bit younger than that, and admitted freely to being accomplished and deft pick-pockets, working together with another pair, Peyko, and Neeol.

Ihryen was nine and just such a thief, but at shops and slinking into houses, helped by Algonia, who was eight passed, and Masal, who was almost nine. The youngest one was Ihmera, a scrawny girl of seven, who was in training as a pick-pocket and a thief, she explained gravely, but was not let out yet on her own because she still could be spotted too easily.

What a kind of an association and of acquaintances, Atlan thought with an inward shudder, duly admiring little Ihmera on her progress as she showed him how swiftly she could put her hand into his trouser pocket and could draw it out again unnoticed. Her touch truly was so light it almost was unnoticeable.

“Our protector and adult boss is Morenth”, Rhonn said, “who doesn’t bother us if we do not cross his path and do his bidding where he needs us. That most often concerns Selaron and Enteko and me, sometimes Jhafto as well; but I bet you, Cunor, that you’ll be with us very soon after Morenth has heard of you joining us, and that I must tell him as soon as possible-today, actually, in the afternoon when I am due to call Kreto, his pakka-tho. You’ll have free run and safety then in the whole district and from the other gangs under Morenth’s control; that doesn’t go, of course, for gangs which work on their own or listen to another call, like Tscheketh and his men whom we are constantly in trouble and rivalry with.

If you’re sick or hurt, you won’t be left out in the open either. Jektor is quite a good Yoner, in with Morenth, and helps us for free if we really need it, and Aunt Mhari looks after us with our smaller troubles-she’s an elder woman who’s been in Karena’s trade for a time and was a dancer too, and now trains younger dancers. She’s seen it all and looks after us like an-well, an aunt.”

“Someone whom we can go to with our troubles, and who will listen to us and understands us, and often has good advice”, Irjona interjected softly. “She’s really nice.”

Atlan inclined his head, acknowledging, and thanking for the information. He surely wasn’t going to tell his real troubles to anyone!

“And then, of course, there’s Mexon”, Rhonn went on with a grim smile.

“He’s an old arbtan, a fleeter officer, and knows it all, and has taught all of us about fighting and traps and intentions of the enemy, and has warned us of trouble before, and has- cautioned –me.”

“Strategy?”, the young prince retorted shortly, in a questioning tone.

“Hm. Yes. He’s told me most of what I know in that regard. He’s been in the war and has gone through real battles, and knows in truth how tough life is-he said, the war’s the same whether you sit in a ship heading for a Maahkath attack or run the streets with gangs going for each other.”

“I see.” Atlan kept his face from showing too much interest. That man seemed to be closest to an instructor at fighting like Sek-athor Kehene was, or what has-athor Kenos was teaching him-or even Kelta. Had taught him. Gods. Not to speak of what he heard in class, or from his father and uncles and their acquaintances and friends, had heard at official receptions and at family dinners-

Gods, he just realized that he could probably teach this gang leader and his mates more of strategy than they ever had heard of. But on the other hand-this Mexon had been in real battles and fights, and knew daily life upon a war-ship of the fleet, Tai-Votani of it under Maahkath fire and in risky action and battle-he might be worth to meet and talk to, extensively. The young prince decided he was going to try becoming acquaintances with this man.

Rhonn grinned shortly. He had caught on to the sudden interest of the mehandor chap, much as Cunor had been trying to hide that interest just now. Yes, strategy definitely was something extremely useful to learn.

“How old are you, in truth?” he asked with real interest. He knew that this boy must be older than he looked like, being mehandor, but how much older he could be he had no idea of. By appraisal, on impulse, he would have estimated him at about his own age, or a bit younger-nearly fourteen, perhaps.

“Ah.” Cunor coloured a little.

“ID says just thirteen passed, and to get a job I said I was getting on to fifteen. Truth’s between that, but where exactly I have no idea. It’s all relative, with time dilatation, calcs changing with acceleration and gravity wells, not the same either at every destination-we’ve spent whole pragos in free fall around a sun if we had to do repairs or were in meeting and conference with another ship off the general routes or stations. Sometimes you take a long time to decelerate, coming in-system if you do not know whether you won’t have to jump out in a hurry within shortest notice again. So I have only raw calcs on that-comp knew to the click, having calculated and recorded it all, but comp’s gone with the Lirela. So call me almost fourteen-Karena will confirm that in some regards I’m kind of younger than that, having had no experiences living close with my family.”

Laughter broke out all around. Rhonn laughed out aloud as well, grinning widely.

“Meaning you haven’t fucked a gal yet.”

Atlan’s colour rose. He knew it, but couldn’t help it. Damn. “Yes-I mean, no.” 

Rhonn laughed harder, his arms akimbo. “Gods, merchanter mate-you’ll have to grow up faster, here. But you’ll have a good teacher if she consents.” He sent a pointed glance at Karena, who stood a hand on her hip and a leg elegantly forward, entirely enticing and beautiful.

Cunor had really red cheeks, now, and frowned, biting his lip. That he was not out for her bed Karena already knew-and how should he be, having not had any encounters yet, in a culture that thought he was fit for it only at fifteen, with sleep-overs on a station, and with no-one but a merchanter gal?

“Rhonn, leave off”, she said softly but clearly. “He’s had enough, lately-losing his ship and his family isn’t that long ago, for him. He’s just arrived at Tela-vhelor, with a lot of trouble just behind him and upon his heels. I can tell the hurts he’s caught are new and fresh.”

Rhonn stopped laughing and bit his lip with a frown. Cunor was looking down, his face had gone white so abruptly and suddenly that there must be truth to Karena’s estimation.

“How long?” he asked shortly.

The merchanter boy looked up, a kind of desperate light in his deep red eyes.

“Almost a Votan ago”, he answered in a toneless voice. “My family-they weren’t just killed, Rhonn, we were boarded and they were murdered, one by one and by different means, and Taddo-my father-had to watch from bridge-and I saw most of it too. They tried to gas me, but I escaped in the nick of time, I knew the ship, you see, and they had thought me easier prey than I was and were too slow initially to get me, while they were swifter with Kel my brother, who was so much older. The pod I got into and escaped with was too small for them to find among the debris around Firing sun, after, and so I got away and was found and taken in by miners from Firing base, and from there and then on-I’ve run, and ended up here. And just in the last ship I took I caught up with the murderers again, who were searching for me, and up there we had a merry-go-round and quite a shoot-out. I ran in the nick of time, again, and got out with a life-boat and rode it down into the atmosphere of the next planet I saw, which was this one-and here I am, and those bastards I don’t know the names of or their purpose have landed and bribed your Tato, it seems, and I am deeper in trouble than ever I was, having lost all I knew and cared for. Gods be thanked I met Karena, and have found you and the gang, now, I’m not altogether lost and alone now, anymore, and not entirely left without a family.”

Cunor, his face still absolutely white, closed his eyes, and took a deep shaking breath, while he was trembling all over for a moment. Then he got himself in hand again, with self-command almost unbelievable for one so young and having suffered such a loss that recently.

“Thank you for taking me in, Rhonn”, he said, his voice still shaky, a single tear running down his cheek.

The gang leader stepped forward and simply hugged him, hard. Gods, now he understood-Gods, he understood. He had been younger when he saw his uncle shot and his mother raped and shot too before he had managed to run. But the images had been with him in his mind, ever since, and the sobbing voice of his mother while she was being forced, begging the man to leave her, and in between telling him to run, which he did, only he heard the hiss of the shot before he had gotten out the door and turned, and had seen her lie with that black hole between her brows, her trousers ripped off her body, her legs wide, her eyes staring upward, at nothing, suddenly empty. The man had turned, and so had he, and gotten out, and run-

But he had been a street-kid for a long time and had known where to run, and what to do, and that man, one of Tscheketh’s bunch, actually, was dead almost a Tai-Votan by now, having gotten killed in one of the many fights Tscheketh had engendered in enlarging his territory and broadening his influence. When he heard he had flown into a rage, Rhonn remembered, almost trembling with a vestige of the same rage he had felt then. He would have wanted to kill the bastard himself, and put the same kind of hole between his brows-after a little time of remembrance and fun. But the Gods and Fate had decreed otherwise.

Cunor hugged him back, trembling again for another moment. But it stopped, and the merchanter boy managed to look him the eyes when they stepped back from each other and Rhonn asked softly:” Your mother-did you see her killed?”

“Yes.” A deep breath. “They threw a sonic grenade at her. It ripped her body into a thousand pieces, her and Getray, my little sister-Mam was pregnant, you see. Her blood spattered everywhere and got onto my sleeve, as did Kel’s, who was my older brother-him they cut with knives, slashed him open many times. I have that piece of cloth with me, still.” 

Cunor’s voice was surprisingly level, almost clinically detached. 

“Aww, zhak’shon”, Aday said softly into the awed silence. He, too, had lost his family, though in a less terrible way-or a worse one, one could not say which. His father had left the family when he had been little, moved on to another town or even another planet, one knew not which. His mother had begun to take drugs and was spending her days now lying in a street corner, mumbling and screeching, sometimes getting fed by Aday and his two younger sisters, who were living in a brothel, in another district, and sometimes going hungry till she looked like a skeleton when times were leaner. It would not be long now till she would die, as much was certain.

Cunor’s face was twisted. “Yes, exactly”, he murmured. Then he pulled himself together, visibly.

“Let’s leave off that matter, now, please”, he said, calmly and firmly. “I’ll have a break-down in front of you all if we go on with the details of that. Later, perhaps, if you care for the story, but not today-please.”

Selaron’s lips twitched.

“If you said that with hysteria in your voice, Cunor, and shaking or so, I’d understand. Immediately. But you say it so calmly,-good self-control you have, pal.”

A weak smile appeared upon the merchanter boy’s face. “At decomp drill, you have no time to panic or fly into hysteria, and would have less if you faced a real emergency. You either keep your head and discipline, or you flunk it all-and in space that means you’re dead. So I was taught to be on my toes and have a clamp on hysteria or over-reaction, always.”

Enteko’s lips pursed, but he said nothing. Instead, Karena stepped up and took Cunor’s hand, and drew him forward towards the stairs.

“Let’s find you a place to sleep and get a bed for you, Cunor, and a locker to put your things in-we won’t touch your belongings, that’s a matter of honour with us, but still it’s a good feeling one’s things are safe. I think I already know where I’ll find a bunk for you”, she said brightly.

“Put him next to me!” Aday was calling after them. “I’ll have a lot of questions, and he’ll teach me!”

“So our poor merchanter mate won’t have a moment of sleep in that bunk?” she called back, to laughter rising again.

“We’ll see about that!”


End file.
